


five for silver, six for gold

by Edgebug



Series: harpy!Oswald 'verse [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Jim Gordon Has A Crisis For The Eighteenth Time Probably, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Wing Kink, Wingfic, harpy!Oswald, kinda goes with this territory, sex involving a nonhuman creature, that is literally what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edgebug/pseuds/Edgebug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plotless sequel to One for Sorrow, Two for Joy. (harpy!Oswald and Jim bang. that. that's pretty much it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	five for silver, six for gold

**Author's Note:**

> the following filth contains full-on sex between a human and a bird creature. However, Oswald is sentient and capable of giving very, very, very enthusiastic consent
> 
> i'm a fucking yiff drag me to gay bird hell
> 
> (Takes place maybe a month or two after One for Sorrow, Two for Joy)

Holy shit, how had Jim gotten here. Oh, right. Right about when Oswald crowded him up against the countertop in the kitchen and kissed him. It had been lovely for a long moment until things heated up and Oswald slid a feathered thigh up between Jim's knees. Oswald had tried to pin him there with a wing on either side of his body, but it had been easy to gently push a wing aside and slide out from between the harpy and the counter. "Um--not, not right now, Oz. Hey, I was think--"  
  
That's when Oswald snaps. "Why don't you want to mate with me?" he interrupts bluntly. He looks very put out indeed, his crest fluffed up indignantly and a frustrated furrow to his brow.  
  
"Um--" Oh god. "Oswald, it's not that--"  
  
"You always, _always_ stop before we get too far," Oswald says, interrupting again. "Why? I can _feel_ that you want me," he says matter-of-factly and with just a touch of smug sureness. "So what?"  
  
How the fuck is he going to explain this to him? Jesus Christ. He's been telling himself that he's still in the moral grey area because he's not sexually taking advantage of Oswald. Can Oswald even consent properly? Part of Jim still has the paralyzing fear that Oswald is with him because he feels like he has to be; because he feels he can't say no. He's been conditioned to be _owned_ , and... Has it truly worn off? He's still partially waiting for Oswald to leave him, terrified of the day he wakes up and Oz is gone.  
  
Not to mention that Oswald is a harpy, a bird, and it would be incredibly illegal to have sex with him.  
  
If he fucked Oswald, he'd be so far out of the moral grey area that he wouldn't be able to see grey anymore.  
  
Oswald chirps and clicks his talons loudly to get Jim's attention. "You're thinking too hard," he grumbles, feathers ruffling. "Nevermind, J-Jim." He still has trouble with that J sound, occasionally, especially when flustered. He's good with English now but J sounds are tough for him. "Nevermind."  
  
-  
  
Oswald's in his lap and kissing him like his life depends on it; he's straddling Jim's lap, wings flung around him and over the back of the couch. Jim's hands are buried in Jim's feathers and Oswald moans wantonly against Jim's lips. "Gordon, my Gordon," Oswald pants when he pulls back for breath, and it just feels so good to have Oswald so close and--  
  
and then Oswald grinds his hips down against Jim's and he's hard and so is Jim and there's a hot spark that dances up Jim's spine before he places his hands firmly on Jim's waist and pushes him, gently, away.  
  
Oswald lets out a frustrated groan. "Jim! Why?!"  
  
"I just--I just--"  
  
"Why?!" Oswald cries, puzzlement and hurt on his face, and Jim sighs.  
  
"Just, do you really want this? I--"  
  
Oswald's eyes widen. "You thought I might not--" he lets out an almost hysterical, chirping laugh like birdsong. "Yes! Jim," he says, voice dropping lower, "yes, I want you." He presses closer, nuzzling against Jim's ear. "Jim, _I want you_." Jim's hands loosen on his waist, letting him settle down flush against him.  
  
"Oswald..."  
  
"My mate," Oswald purrs, "my Gordon." He presses down against Jim, lets out a breathy noise. The harpy is squirming in his lap and Jim can feel soft feathers against his arms and Oswald hard against his stomach and Jim's own dick is pressed up against Oswald's ass, Oswald rocking down against him insistently. "Christ," he breathes, hands smoothing up Oswald's thighs. "Oz." He's teetering on the knife edge of that moral grey area. He could stop this. He could stop it right here.  
  
And then Oswald pulls back just enough to meet Jim's eyes, and Jim sees his face, pink high on his cheeks, pupils blown wide, and he's positively whimpering "Jim, please--"  
  
He could stop this. He could.  
  
"Jim, mate me, fuck me, please--"  
  
Oh, God.  
  
Later, Jim will be able to place the exact moment he tipped over into the morally corrupt side of things. It was the precise second that the word 'fuck' left Oswald's lips. With that single syllable he loses the control he's been keeping since Oswald kissed him the first time so many weeks ago. He tips his head up and kisses him and Oswald seems to light up from inside, giving a pleased hum low in his throat as he kisses back with bright enthusiasm. Jim can feel him smiling against his lips; he's practically vibrating under Jim's hands as Jim's fingers move and dip just under the hem of his shirt.  
  
Oswald pulls back just a bit and his nimble little wrist talons slide to the buttons on his shirt under his wings. All of Oswald's shirts have buttons or snaps down the sides so that the sleeves can get around his wings. Oswald undoes each button with alarming ease before tossing the shirt aside and pressing up against Jim once more. Jim takes in the sight, Oswald's bare chest and shoulders. The sleek inky feathers that cover his wings extend up his shoulders and across his collarbones, almost meeting in the center, not quite reaching his throat. Jim smooths his hands up over those soft feathers, reverently, slowly.  
  
Oswald doesn't preen under the attention long. Those talons move to Jim's shirt, unbuttoning it with equal alacrity. He's filed his wrist talons a bit to make them less deadly-sharp and better for manipulating objects without damaging them, but Jim stays still so that he doesn't get accidentally sliced nonetheless. Oswald pushes the shirt off Jim's shoulders and makes a tiny frustrated noise when he can get it no further. Jim chuckles and slides it off, throwing it in the same direction of Oswald's shirt.  
  
A pleased, low bar of birdsong. Oswald's crest is standing straight up and fluffy and it's a little bit hilarious, Jim grins and pets it and Oswald huffs indignantly before leaning in to kiss Jim again, quick but thorough, licking into his mouth for just a few seconds before pulling back and Jim stretches to try and meet his lips again but Oswald just grins, pulls back and scrambles from Jim's lap. "Bed," he says, tugging at Jim's pant leg with a foot talon and nodding toward Jim's bedroom.  
  
"Yessir," Jim agrees, jumping to his feet and sweeping Oswald into his arms. Oswald's broken foot is healed, but it causes him a limp that's worse some days than others; Jim takes every excuse he can to carry Oswald places. Oswald squeaks and grins, wings wrapping around Jim; he kisses at Jim's neck, sometimes playfully nipping there with sharp teeth.  
  
Jim drops Oswald on the bed and Oswald is instantly undoing and pulling off his pants, curling up his talons to get them off his legs and throwing them on the floor. He apparently took his underwear off with them because suddenly there's a naked harpy spread out on Jim's bed, blushing and breathing hard and staring up at Jim through the dark smudges of his feathery eyelashes and Jim is beginning to forget why he didn't allow this to happen sooner.  
  
Jim drops to the bed as well and Oswald instantly spreads his legs to offer him room between them. Oswald's downy leg feathers come perhaps halfway up his powerful thighs and fade to delicate, milky skin. "God," Jim says softly, eyes raking over Oswald's body. "You're fucking gorgeous, Oz."  
  
Oswald grins, almost smug, and tugs at Jim's belt buckle with a wrist talon. "Off," he says, and Jim shakes his head.  
  
"Be patient." Jim slides a hand down the harpy's stomach, feeling him tremble. His cock is hard and flushed red and when Jim runs his fingertips up its length Oswald cries out sharply, hips bucking. "Yeah, there we go," Jim murmurs, fingers wrapping firmly around him, stroking once, twice. Oswald's legs spread wider, wings spreading over the covers, feathers splaying.  
  
"Jim, Jim," Oswald says before he shakes his head and bats Jim's hand away. "Off," he says again, pulling a little more insistently at Jim's belt buckle. "I want you to fuck me," he repeats from earlier, as if reminding Jim, like Jim had forgotten.  
  
Something in the back of Jim's head protests, says again _what are you doing_ but his pure _want_ shoves it down, shuts it up. "Yeah, I hear you," he says, undoing the buckle and Oswald takes the initiative to grab the belt and pull it from Jim's pants like it's offended him. Jim's got his button and zipper undone and Oswald grabs the cuffs of his pant legs with his talons to help Jim pull out of them easier. The pants fall to the ground and Oswald's patience runs out because he grabs Jim's underwear a little too tight and rips it. "Hey, careful," Jim laughs, shoving it down and leaving it on the ground with his pants.  
  
"Then hurry up," Oswald challenges, wings wrapping around Jim's back and pulling him down against him. Jim can feel cool feathers brushing him, can feel Oswald's skin hot against his own.  
  
Jim reaches over to paw around in his bedside table drawer. He finds lube but no condom; he hasn't been getting lucky lately, for pretty obvious reasons. He can only silently pray thanks for differing biology and the famous inability for harpies and humans to catch anything from each other. (Something about how harpy body temperature is a few degrees higher than that of humans, so human diseases just can't survive in their systems and vice versa.) God, that's convenient.  
  
His fingers curl around the little bottle and he finds himself pausing again, seized by guilt. "Are you--are you sure you're sure?" he asks, helplessly, "I just--I want you to be absolutely positi--"  
  
_"J-Jim!"_ Oswald groans, visibly exasperated but still smiling, "yes! How many times must I say yes?!"  
  
"A thousand, probably," Jim replies, and Oswald rolls his eyes in response.  
  
"Silly," he teases. "C'mon, Jim. In me."  
  
"All right, all right. Be patient."  
  
Oswald scoffs, eyeing Jim raptly as Jim wets his fingers. He moves his hand down to Oswald's ass, pressing a fingertip lightly against his hole and he almost asks yet again, /are you sure,/ but he thinks Oswald might rip him to shreds if he doesn't get a move on, so for the sake of his health, he slides that finger inside of him. He's hot and tight inside and he gives a gasp laced with a soft, delighted noise. "Yes," he sighs, moving back against Jim's hand, and Jim thinks he might actually die before he ever even gets his dick inside the harpy.  
  
"Jesus, Oswald," Jim murmurs, and with a lurch he realizes this is probably--beyond all possibility--the first time Oswald's done this. That guilt gnaws again but Oswald's got his lip between his teeth and he's rocking back against Jim's finger and Jim bites the bullet and slides another finger alongside the first. Oswald is so very vocal, giving another pleased little _ah!_ at the stretch, continuously letting Jim know that he's still very much pleased with what's going on. Jim wills his heart to stop pounding; he gently twists his fingers inside Oswald's body, curling and dragging his fingertips against his inner walls and--  
  
"GORDON!"  
  
Jim grins. Oswald's eyes are wide and shocked, his lips parted as he takes in gasping breaths and blinks rapidly a few times as he regains brain function. "Wh--again!" he demands, "again!"  
  
"Can do," Jim agrees, grin still in place. He curls his fingers again, runs them hard and slow over that firm little spot. Oswald keens, throwing his head back, wings drawing up. Jim spreads his fingers, drags them in and out of Oswald's body for a few strokes before adding a third. Oswald is losing it, working back against Jim's digits, panting and shaking as pre-come steadily drips onto his stomach. He's beautiful.  
  
"Think you're ready?" Jim asks, pausing his little movements.  
  
Oswald nods furiously. "Yesss," he hisses, "yes, Gordon, please!"  
  
"All right," Jim says, and pulls his fingers from Oswald; he spreads more lube over himself, probably way more than is needed but Jesus Christ he's going to be as careful as possible with this delicate little bird. He thinks for a second about how they should do this before he figures it out; Oswald is so light that he's easy to physically manhandle and Jim effortlessly flips them over so he's lying against the bed and Oswald is sprawled, legs straddling his hips. "Like this," he murmurs, and Oswald looks puzzled for a second. "You control how quick or slow. All right?"  
  
Understanding dawns quickly. Oswald gives a grin and nods, and Jim has to grab onto Oswald's waist to keep him from slamming down onto him in one swift go. "No--slow at first, don't hurt yourself, silly!"  
  
_Silly_. Throwing Oswald's pet name back at him.  
  
Oswald gives a frustrated little noise but obeys Jim and slowly, agonizingly slowly, Oswald sinks onto Jim's cock. It feels fucking amazing, the tight, slick muscle around Jim is destroying him bit by bit. He holds his breath until Oswald's sitting on his hips; finally breathes when he's sure he's not going to come instantly and cut Oswald's first time short. "You okay?" he asks, smoothing his hands up Oswald's thighs.  
  
Oswald's eyes are closed, his lips are parted, he's breathing hard--and he's smiling, he looks content. He nods and opens his eyes to look down at Jim as he slowly rolls his hips, clearly relishing the slide of Jim inside of him. "Yes," he moans, starting up a languid pace.  
  
Jim doesn't move, doesn't buck upward into Oswald; he lets Oswald keep control and he sits back and enjoys. He touches, too; runs his hands up Oswald's chest, runs his fingers through smooth feathers and then combs through his wings, fingertips digging down to the sensitive skin beneath his feathers. Oswald nearly chirps at every new touch, and Jim is in love with how _happy_ Oswald is. This is a joyful event, for him; there's an unbridled glee on his face and in every one of his movements. He's still shaking, trembling, and Jim realizes it's with barely-contained excitement. It's all new and it all feels good and he's sharing it with his mate; what's there not to be joyful about?  
  
The feeling is contagious. Happiness bubbles up in Jim's ribcage; he sits up a bit, bringing their chests together and running the flats of his hands up Oswald's back. Oswald seems delighted at the new positioning and leans down to kiss him, sweet like sugar dissolving over his tongue and Jim smiles against Oswald's mouth, can feel Oswald's grin in return. Oswald rocks down against him a little harder and gives a surprised, giggly little moan at the new feeling--he does it again, beginning to move with new enthusiasm, a little faster, chasing his own pleasure and reveling in it. Jim bucks up just a bit, just slightly, and Oswald gasps, melts into a sweet, wonder-filled half-laugh and Jim can feel Oswald's dick twitch between them, can feel it painting slick against his own stomach, can feel the tight grip of Oswald around him, sliding over him quicker and quicker. Oswald swats Jim gently with a wingtip. "Again!" he playfully orders, and Jim has almost no leverage like this but he snaps his hips up into Oswald as best as he can anyway.  
  
Oswald's breathing harder and his pupils are blown wide and his hair is a mess and his lips and cheeks are red and he's fucking beautiful. He's getting close, his movements becoming more erratic, faster and jerkier and Jim slides a hand between them, closes his fingers around Oswald's cock. Oswald cries out, shoving harder back against Jim and trying to press against his hand at the same time, any way he moves he's receiving sensory input and he bounces once, twice, then he's melting and shaking and coming over Jim's fingers, almost sobbing with it, rocking frantically in Jim's lap to chase the feeling. "Fuck, Oz, Jesus," he swears, and Oswald is tightening rhythmically around him as his body releases and he can feel Oswald's breath hot against his neck and then he hears Oswald whimper _Jim, mate me, please_ , and that's it. He shoves up into Oswald's body as he comes, the world whiting out, narrowing down to this perfect creature in his lap, in his arms, his mate, his love, his Oswald.  
  
It seems like a long time before Jim regains his ability to think again. Oswald is practically purring, nuzzling against Jim's jaw, wings curled around him. "Love you," Oswald hums, "my Gordon."  
  
"Love you too," Jim murmurs, "you gotta get up, Oz."  
  
Oswald makes a displeased sound. "Why?"  
  
"Because we made a big goddamn mess and if we don't clean it up now we're going to regret it later," Jim says, amused at Oswald's indignant noise in reply. "There'll be spunk all in your feathers by the time we pull ourselves out of this bed otherwise. You don't want that, huh?" Oswald pulls a face and Jim bites back a laugh. Oswald grumbles and moves from Jim's lap, flopping against the bed. "I'll be right back," Jim promises, and moves to the bathroom.  
  
He catches sight of himself in the mirror and can't look away. There's teethmarks on his neck and talon scratches at his shoulders and Oswald's come is drying on his stomach and that's right about when reality sets in.  
  
What the fuck did he just do?  
  
He swallows hard and wrenches his eyes away. He wipes the come from his body, rinses it from his fingers. He fights back the guilt rising like bile in his throat and he grabs a soft, clean washcloth. He wets it down with warm water and pads back into the bedroom.  
  
Oswald's still sprawled over the bed and he looks positively smug, utterly satisfied. "Jim!" he greets brightly, propping himself up on his elbows, feathers fanning out over the rumpled sheets. He lets Jim clean him up, wipe the mess off his chest, obediently spreads his legs so Jim can clean his come where it leaks from him. Jim folds the towel and tosses it aside when he's done, pauses.  
  
He had no right to do this. He is the responsible party in this situation and he should have protected Oswald and instead he thought with his dick and--He shouldn't have--he shouldn't have--  
  
Oswald's brow furrows. "Gordon," he says softly, "you're thinking too much again."  
  
"I--" Jim runs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath. "I just--I shouldn't have--"  
  
He can't see Oswald but he can feel the air in the room go cold. "Gordon," Oswald repeats, "you're _still_ thinking I didn't want this?" Jim turns and looks at him and Oswald looks _hurt_ and _puzzled_ and Jim can't even begin to explain.  
  
"I..."  
  
Realization dawns on Oswald's face. "Do you think I'm a person?" he asks abruptly.  
  
"What? Of course!"  
  
"You're good at acting otherwise." Oswald's voice is calm as he sits up, crossing his legs pretzel-style.  
  
"I--" Guilt rises in him again. "You mean I--I used you? I didn't--I--"  
  
"No, no. Silly," he sighs. "You don't think I can make my own decisions like a person can." He scoots closer to sit beside Jim.  
  
"Oswald, no, that's not--"  
  
"I am _not_ trapped here, Gordon. My wings aren't clipped." His voice is quiet but severe. "I _choose_ to be here. I _choose_ to be with you, my mate. And if I _am_ a person to you, you must respect that I have choice and free will. I am no eggchick, J-Jim. I didn't hatch yesterday."  
  
Jim blinks. Looks down. "I'm sorry."  
  
"If I didn't like you, I'd leave. Was I afraid to leave Mooney?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Neither would I be afraid to leave here. But I don't want to." A feathery wrist reaches up, strokes Jim's cheek. "Do you love me?"  
  
"Forever," Jim murmurs, meeting Oswald's bright blue gaze.  
  
"Then trust me now. Trust me now, Gordon."  
  
Something changes inside Jim's head. Oswald _is_ a person, and Jim hadn't realized he'd been treating him any differently. In trying to take care of him he'd been undermining Oswald's independence, undervaluing how headstrong he is. "I trust you, Oz." Jim crooks half a smile. "If you didn't like me you'd just cut me to ribbons, huh?"  
  
Oswald laughs, leans in and rests his forehead against Jim's. "To ribbons," he agrees, wrapping his wing around Jim and pulling him down against the bed. Jim wraps his arms around him and Oswald blankets him with his feathers. Jim kisses him softly before nuzzling into his hair and Oswald gives a satisfied little hum, curling close.  
  
"Did you really hatch from an egg?" Jim asks, and Oswald positively giggles.  
  
"Didn't _you?"_

**Author's Note:**

> i regret everything
> 
> pretty sure that when I get to hell, satan is going to shake my hand


End file.
